Mistress of My Fate (7 page)
“Hetty!” My cousin spoke sharply. “Your face is quite red. ”
All at once, my aunt, who had been conversing with her relation, Mrs. Villiers, broke off her chat and examined me with a furrowed brow.
“Are you well, child?” she asked with some concern.
“I… it is the heat,” I stammered, hardly knowing myself what had come over me. I touched my fan lightly and then, as they studied me, slowly unfurled it.
I fear the humiliation was so great that I could not take my eyes off my shoes for some time. While the company continued with their gossip, I fanned myself dreamily, catching my breath and calming my racing pulse. When curiosity drove me to hazard a fleeting glance in the direction where he had stood, I was relieved to see he had gone.
“My Lord Allenham,” exclaimed my uncle, quite suddenly.
I drew in my breath. I knew what I was to find. Reader, you know it too! There, standing to my right, was the gentleman in the green coat.
Oh Jupiter! I wished the roof might fall in and bury me! I could hardly think.
To this day, I could not tell you which sensation had more command of my senses: the horror of embarrassment or the ecstasy of being so near to him. My face was as hot as a smelting furnace. You would think I had never before stood beside a man.
I could scarcely look at him. What little I had learned of his divine features from a distance was magnified at closer range. His eyes were truly like nothing I had seen: they were so full of blue! Like buckets of clear well water—no, like the well itself, rimmed with deep green moss and shade. I shall always recall their effect on me, how I shivered when his gaze encompassed me. Lady Jersey once described him as an Adonis. Although it is a word much overused, I do believe it fitted Lord Allenham perfectly in his youth.
“I had a letter from Mr. Fox today, claiming you to be with him at St. Ann’s Hill,” commented Lord Stavourley.
“Alas, I was, but am no longer,” he responded with a wry smile and a courtly bow. “My visit to our friend was regrettably short, though long enough to settle some matters concerning the candidacy.”
“My lord,” interrupted my aunt, wishing to avoid a political conversation and eager to make use of the situation, “I believe you have not yet been introduced to my daughter, Lady Catherine, or to her cousin, Miss Ingerton.”
We both bowed our heads. “… Or indeed to my cousin, Mrs. Villiers.”
“And what a misfortune that has been, to have been so long an acquaintance of Lord Stavourley and not to have had an opportunity for an introduction.” He regarded both of us with a warm look. “If I may beg leave of your lord and ladyship, as the next dance is beginning, I shall have to make amends immediately.” Then, entirely unexpectedly,
he turned to me. “Madam, would you do me the honour of accompanying me to the ballroom?”
I am not certain who among us was the most aghast. He hardly waited for an answer before offering me his arm. Before any of my party could utter a protestation, Lord Allenham, the most handsome man I had ever beheld, the subject of my transfixed stares just moments before, led me away. As he did, I noticed Lady Catherine’s lips part in disbelief.
Dear reader, I was a trembling wreck! My head whirled with the most terrible confusion. I had done nothing to invite this. Surely Lord Allenham meant to dance with my cousin, not with me. I could not decide if there had been some mistake or indeed whether this had been calculated. My heart thumped inside my chest. What fired it more, my terror that I should upset Lady Catherine or the sensation of Allenham’s sturdy arm beneath my fingertips, I could not say.
As we passed through the entrance to the ballroom, I felt as if I had been turned upside down. Everything spun; the light from the chandeliers intensified; the crowd swelled wider; the odour of the rooms grew more cloying and nauseating. It seemed that the gaze of the entire assembly followed me. I could hardly breathe and my fingers tightened around his forearm like the claws of a hawk.
We stood amid the other couples poised to begin a cotillion. I knew I would have to concentrate with all my might on the steps, counting them out just as our dancing master had warned us not to. I held my focus, avoiding his gaze where possible, though this was of little use. It was his nearness that distracted me. As we circled round one another, first left and then right, I sensed a great blush begin to spread from my throat on to my cheeks. His lordship could not help but notice the throbbing pinkness of my face, and attempted to put me at ease by making polite conversation.
“Have you been long at Bath?”
“No, my lord, less than a fortnight,” I stuttered.
“And how have you been diverting yourself in that time?” he asked.
“I fear that Lady Stavourley’s health has kept us confined, my lord, but she has improved greatly since our arrival here.”
“I do not doubt that to be the case, for she has you to amuse her.” He spoke with a teasing glimmer in his eye. I was far too inexperienced to recognize flirtation when I encountered it, and began to panic.
“Oh no,” I spluttered, “I think you mean my cousin… she is the one who plays and sings…”
“And you? What of your accomplishments?” He raised an intrigued eyebrow, choosing to ignore my awkward response. “I cannot imagine that a gentleman of Lord Stavourley’s learning would countenance a child reared in his nursery to be turned out unfinished.”
“Painting.” I swallowed. “But I cannot pretend to talent…”
“You hide behind your modesty, madam.”
His rapid parry flustered me.
“I… I… have received compliments on my watercolours… landscapes… my tutor thinks them accomplished, but really, my lord, I merely apply myself to my studies and then practise with my brushes what I have learned…” I replied as we crossed one another.
This comment appeared to pique Lord Allenham, who threw me an amused look. “Your tutor has prescribed you texts?”
“Only Sir Joshua Reynolds’
Discourses
,” I answered, which drew a crooked smile from him.
“I dare say you will not learn much about painting nature from that!” He laughed lightly. “Have you not read Mr. Burke’s
Philosophical Enquiry
on the subjects of beauty and the sublime? Mr. Burke is, I believe, an acquaintance of Lord Stavourley.”
Goodness, thought I, his lordship must think me a philosopher! I grew bashful and lowered my eyes, regretting that I did not have my cousin’s talent for conversation.
“When I was a child, Mr. Burke came to Melmouth and petted
me upon the head…” I smiled awkwardly, realizing what a dunce I sounded. “But I cannot say that I have read his treatise.”
At that instant his arm rubbed against my silk sleeve, the side of his coat against my gown. His touch caused me to draw in breath, and then exhale with shame. I felt so gauche, so mortified by my quivering and utterly convinced that the entire room of dancers and spectators knew that my being there was some dreadful mistake.
“Ah, but you must!” he exclaimed as he moved towards me, his face glowing with the fire of his ideas. He pursed his lips, patiently waiting as the dance drew us apart and then back together again before he could relay his thoughts. My gaze was fixed upon his expression, for I found myself captivated by its intensity, eager to know what sentiments so animated his features. At last, he reached for my hand, taking it into his firm, warm one, and then turned his bright eyes on to mine.
“Beauty,” he began, “is born out of the passion of love. An artist cannot make sense of a landscape without an understanding of this.” He smiled and then gave a deferential nod. “So says Mr. Burke.”
So entirely distracted was I that I missed a step.
Allenham paid no mind and continued.
“And the sublime, the sublime is greater than beauty. It overwhelms the senses. It consumes us. It is the pure fury and power of nature. It must be felt to be known. An artist must feel in order to paint, and of that, madam, you will never learn from reading Sir Joshua’s dry
Discourses
.”
Well, reader, I simply could not fathom how I might respond to that. What might a girl who knows nothing of society, of worldly behaviour, of nature or passion make of such a statement? I stared at him, so spellbound by his vitality, his light, his perfect assembly of features, as to be awed into silence. Why, he was the most remarkable person I had ever encountered. As I joined hands and circled with the other ladies in our square, I picked over his comments. If only I had the wit and vivacity of my cousin, I lamented. I was so simple, so frightened, such a milksop!
“Perhaps I should improve myself by reading Mr. Burke,” was all I could think of to say.
As we danced, I prayed he could not read the pain of embarrassment on my face. Beside Allenham I felt graceless and clumsy, while he seemed utterly unshakeable, as if he hardly needed to think, as if everything he did, every comment and step, came as naturally as breathing. Surely, I told myself, he wished to dance with my cousin, not with me. The more I contemplated this, the greater my discomfort grew. A picture settled in my mind of Lady Catherine bursting with fury at this error, the humiliation I would cause Lord Allenham, the scandal that would explode before me. Panic began to rise within me as the dance wound to its conclusion, and before I had so much as recovered myself, I found my partner leading me across the room to where our party stood. There I spied my aunt, her brows arched in an expression of disapproval, and my cousin beside her with a face hard and indignant. My heart lurched.
“My lord,” I said with urgency as we approached the group, “I fear… I fear there has been some error…”
He regarded me with a playful glance.
As we stood before my cousin, I explained, “I believe you had wished to dance with Lady Catherine but… there was some confusion. I… I am Miss Ingerton.” My mouth trembled as I forced a smile.
Allenham bowed his head at Lady Catherine and then at me, his face never once wavering from its polite cast. He made no remark upon my comment, but turned to my cousin and requested the next dance.
One comment that is often made about Lord Allenham is that he had a genius for discretion. That much was apparent from our first meeting. What could have been perceived as a
faux pas
was instantly smoothed away by the attention he lavished upon my cousin. For the one cotillion he danced with me, he partnered Lady Catherine in both a minuet and a reel. I cannot express to you the contentment I felt at seeing them, hands joined, step and bounce together in careful formation. Honestly, I
enjoyed this sight more than I did my own dance with the Baron. After all, the scene was meant to have played out in this way. My heart swelled for Lady Catherine. It also sighed with relief. Had the situation not been put right, I dread to think how she might have taken against me. I had been embraced as her dearest, most treasured friend, but knew all too well the power of her wrath and how easily I might be cast down.
Happily, the night was remembered as a triumph. Allenham remained affixed to our group for the duration of the ball, offering us his arms and escorting our party between the tea room and the card tables. At his side, my cousin burst into life, giggling and casting looks with as much accomplishment as an actress. To be sure, she was perhaps on occasion too loud and too ebullient in her conversation, but, as I was to observe, the Baron had this effect on most ladies. They either quaked with nerves or fell into a silent stupefaction in his presence. Indeed, I have known only one other gentleman to possess such a hold over the female sex, and that was Lord Byron, who with his clubbed foot could not even dance!
You can imagine our delight when, at the conclusion of the evening, Lord Allenham turned to my aunt and uncle with a reverential bow and requested permission to call upon us the following day. As he put his question, a hint of boyish uncertainty darted across his confident expression. His bright smile quivered endearingly, as if he feared for an instant we would refuse him. As if that were at all possible.
Needless to say, neither I nor my cousin had more than a wink of sleep that night. We lay huddled together in the bed we shared, just as we had done as children. Lady Catherine squeezed my hand as she recounted every sentence he had spoken, every compliment he had paid her, every dance they had enjoyed. Indeed, I had never heard her gush with such heartfelt enthusiasm for any previous admirer.
“I shall die of love, I think I shall die of love,” she panted. “Do you not think him the most handsome man in the world, Hetty?” she asked for what must have been the seventh or eighth time.
“Oh yes,” I agreed.
“Do you think he is in love with me?”
“How could he not be, cousin? You are so pretty and accomplished.”
Then she gasped quite suddenly, as if startled by a realization.
“I do believe I shall marry him!” she squealed.
I held her hand tightly and shut my eyes fast.
“Yes, I do believe you will.”
It could be said that the courtship of Lady Catherine Ingerton and- George, Lord Allenham, began in earnest when they appeared beside one another in the Baron’s box at the Theatre Royal. I was fortunate enough to have accompanied them, as was Mrs. Villiers, my uncle and my triumphant aunt, who was eager for all of Bath to observe her. Especially eager, I might add, after she received confirmation from a friend that Lord Allenham was not, as she had heard, engaged to either Miss Featherstonehaugh or to Miss Powis. In the wake of this news, it was remarkable how rapidly she recovered her health. Why, to look upon her that evening at the theatre, one would never have thought she had suffered a moment’s pain. She sat alongside her daughter, her colour heightened, her head held high, as proud as a goose upon her eggs.
Needless to say, this turn of events altered the tempo of our stay quite markedly. In fact, following my uncle’s departure for London that week, our little band of ladies was thrown into a positive fit of giddiness. My aunt’s lethargy was replaced by a constant, nervous bustle. A fuss was required for every occasion, every possible meeting with Lord Allenham was strategized as if Lady Stavourley were preparing her daughter for battle. New feathers and shoe buckles were purchased, and two further boxes of Lady Catherine’s apparel were sent for from Berkeley Square. Sally Pickering, one of our childhood nurses who now served as our lady’s maid, was set to work brushing down and making repairs to all of my cousin’s gowns. An entire day was devoted to this
task, to sewing a new silver edging on a bodice, applying a lace trim to a set of sleeves, reshaping several pairs of satin shoes. Sally stitched love into her mistress’s attire, smiling as she moved her needle. Indeed, to this day I have never seen a maid so devoted to her lady. She tended Lady Catherine with the adoration of a mother, but saw to me grudgingly, angrily combing the tangles from my hair or viciously pulling at my laces. She despised me, to be sure, that much was plain.
